


A simple love (with a complex touch)

by Ischa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Next Generation, Light Masochism, M/M, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:11:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Albus is in love with his brother. </p>
<p>  <i>At fifteen, he was too old for such childish affections, but he took every single one of James' touches – even those that hurt. Especially those that hurt and shouldn’t, weren't meant to. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A simple love (with a complex touch)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bryoneybrynn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryoneybrynn/gifts).



> Random gift-fic for bryoneybrynn. She gave prompt-words I ignored in favour of the 'With James and Albus? High and fucked-up, of course.' I can always work with that.  
> Beta by Icalynn <3  
> Title by Maroon5

Albus noticed things, he couldn't help it. 

He noticed his sister’s light flush whenever Teddy was around and he noticed his dad's eyes getting that faraway look whenever he saw Mr. Malfoy. 

He noticed his brother’s hands, his legs, his fingers. Albus was unable to look away from his brother’s lips when he spoke at times. 

He had always been very aware of James, of course, but lately it seemed to take on ridiculous dimensions. 

 

~+~  
James stretched, his t-shirt riding up slightly, and smiled at Albus.  
It was too early for James to be up, especially on a Saturday when he had been out the previous night. 

“Did you even go to bed?” Albus asked, handing him a mug of coffee. 

James took it and nearly inhaled it. “Hmm...” he answered which wasn't an answer at all. 

“Your bed, James?” Albus clarified. 

James put the mug down and grabbed the pot to pour another. “No, not mine...” James seemed always a bit hesitant to tell Albus about his, well, hook-ups, because he's never brought anyone home, yet. 

Albus wanted and didn't want to hear any of it. “You're setting a bad example for relationships-”

“That's because I only love you,” James teased, ruffling his hair before Albus could duck. James' touch made something under Albus' skin spark. He wanted to lean into it, claim it, bury himself in that feeling, or maybe his brother. It was scary and exiting.  
And in no way normal.  
Albus knew as much. 

“Don't joke about it,” he said. 

“I'm not,” James replied, pressing a soft kiss to Albus' forehead. At fifteen, he was too old for such childish affections, but he took every single one of James' touches – even those that hurt. Especially those that hurt and shouldn’t, weren't meant to. 

“Stop molesting your brother, James,” Dad said and Albus pulled back, smiling at him. 

“He likes it!” James countered. 

“Hmm...” Dad said, pouring a mug of coffee for mom and then started to make a pot of tea. 

Just another normal Saturday morning, Albus thought, but the skin on his forehead where James' lips brushed it was burning. 

 

~+~  
It wasn't the first time he had dreamt about James, it wasn't the first time he had dreamt about lips on his skin, fingers inside his mouth. It wasn't even the first time had dreamt (in a vague sense where he couldn't see the other person's face, but knew anyway) that he had dreamt about having sex with James'.  
It was the first time the dream had been rooted in reality. His skin tingled, his mind hazy as he ran a hand down his body to curl his fingers around his cock. Albus bit his lip hard, arching into his own hand and wished it was someone elses' (James').  
 _He likes it..._  
And Albus did. He liked it. 

 

~+~  
The first time Albus got off with someone it was hard and fast and a little mean, just like he knew it would be, because that was what he had learned from James: That you paid for affection and attention in bruises. 

He still dreamt about being pressed into walls or shoved into closets – childhood memories, playing with James, because James liked to play rough. His brother’s hands digging into the soft flesh of his arms or belly or thigh. It became hard to keep the moans in when James grabbed him as he passed by the couch to demand, or ask, or just for the hell of it. 

 

~+~  
“Don't do that,” James said and pushed his thumb to Albus' lip where he had been biting it. Albus' teeth scrapped against James' skin. He licked it on instinct and then reared back.

“Can't help it,” Albus replied, willing his body to calm the hell down. It had only been James' finger, he had had James' fingers in his mouth countless times before. In fact it was pretty much the first memory he had of James and his taste. All in all it was James' fault Albus was a mess with way too many secrets. 

“Scoot over,” James said and Albus did, because there was no reason not to. “You have an awful lot of bruises lately,” James continued. He wasn't looking at Albus. He was looking at the telly Albus had only been pretending to be watching. 

“Boys will be boys,” Albus replied, shrugging it off. 

“I'm concerned,” James said. 

“About my bruises? Isn't it a bit late for that? You bruised me up since I could walk – or even before that, James.” Messed up, Albus thought again. 

James stared at the telly for a bit longer. “But those I made. I know where they're from,” he said eventually. 

“Are you jealous I don't only play with you anymore?” Albus laughed. It hurt, just a little, but it also made his heart race. 

James grabbed his wrist hard, his fingers curling around it, James' nails biting into his skin. “Yes, because you're mine.” 

And what did that even mean? “To play with? To hurt?” Albus asked and was grateful his voice came out strong and devoid of any of the fucking turmoil he was feeling right now. 

“To love,” James said and Albus' head snapped to his brother's face. James was still staring at the telly. “Did you think I didn't notice?” 

“What?” He tried to pull free, but James only tightened his grip around Albus' wrist and turned so they would finally look at each other. 

“Does it hurt you?” James asked. 

Albus could feel his breath on his own lips, that's how bloody close they were. “What?” He repeated because what did James mean? What-

“The way I love you, does it hurt you?” James clarified. 

Albus nodded, “Yes, yes it does,” he sighed.  
James fingers were nearly a bruising grip now and Albus couldn't help the moan. He bit his lip, looking away. 

“But you like I,” James realised. 

It was horrible and wonderful at the same time to witness it. Albus nodded, because there wasn't anything he could possibly gain by lying to James now. 

James leaned in then and brushed a gentle kiss against Albus' lips just to bite them a second later, Albus reached out and pulled James closer, let himself fall backwards on the couch, so James could loom over him.  
It felt like one of the dreams he had every night since what seemed like forever now. But Albus never dreamed about _making out_ on their living room sofa. 

“James!” He gasped and was glad they were alone for the weekend. Was glad that the only one who could hear the desperation and sheer need in his voice was James. 

“You're mine,” James said, biting hard, scrapping his teeth against Albus' collarbone. “Mine to play with, mine to hurt, mine to love,” he added in between kisses and bites. 

Albus arched up into him, slinging his legs around James' middle to keep him close, so he got some friction. James moaned. “Mine to...” he began and Albus bucked up “Fuck?” It was a breathless question, more a whisper than anything else. It could mean anything in that situation, but Albus knew what it meant. 

“Yes,” Albus whispered back.


End file.
